


Interlude

by en passant (corinthian)



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corinthian/pseuds/en%20passant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a nostalgic moment at the coffeeshop. Sort of AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude

It’s been a decade since he last saw Akashi. There had been something, though, about their last meeting that lingered — it might have been the way that Akashi, despite his perfect posture, looked like he was tilting sideways, or the bile that Midorima could still taste in the back of his throat (the taste of overworked muscles, the beginnings of vomit, the sting of defeat) and the way that Akashi just turned and walked away as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. It must be the last thing, as Akashi had that tendency to move in and out of people’s lives, ruining them, and then carrying on as if he hadn’t noticed. Sometimes Midorima thought he didn’t notice. There was a certain focused guilelessness that Akashi had, somehow being so concentrated on perfectionism that you wanted to forgive his snubs, but on the same note, you never could.

And of course, there he was, in line at Starbucks. Age hadn’t softened his face at all, if anything he’d become sharper. Midorima picked up a newspaper, flicked it open, pretended to read the headlines as he looked at Akashi. He’d grown out his bangs again and they had acquired the ostentatious lightly tousled by the wind but not out of place look that for many people took hours, a comb and hairgel but Midorima had the sneaking suspicion that Akashi’s hair just fell into place like that when he woke up. It seemed like an irritatingly Akashi trait, to be honest. The gold of his left eye was seeping into his right eye, just barely. What looked most out of place, though, was the casual smile. Midorima couldn’t help but to fold the newspaper in irritation, packing up his own items (two pens, a notepad, a packet of case studies and a handful of seaweed candy — his lucky item of the day).

"… what a pleasant surprise," somehow in that amount of time Akashi had secured his coffee — or was it espresso? — and moved over to stand near his table. "Were you on your way out?"

"It’s been a while."

"Ten years, if I’m not incorrect." Said in a way, of course, that booked no discussion about Akashi’s ability to be correct.

"You’re still the same." It isn’t meant as a taunt, Midorima likes to believe that he’s past those childish days, though there is something about Akashi that makes him want to frown, wrinkle his nose, insult him.

"No, you just expect me to be." Akashi sets his cup down on the table, he tilts it to the side, balancing the lip between two fingers. Espresso, no sugar or cream, no lid. "I have some time, why don’t we catch up on things?"

"Not everyone runs on your clock." It comes out sulkier than Midorima intends.

"I know, but I’m asking a favor." Then Akashi does something Midorima is very familiar with (even ten years later). He tilts his head up — just enough that if Midorima was standing Akashi would be looking him in the eye — the smile dropping off his face. It’s like another person has stepped into Akashi’s shoes, someone less prone to smiling, less prone to grandiose gestures, someone who has even the slightest bit of humility. "It would be nice if you joined me."

Midorima is terrible at saying no.


End file.
